Our Fred


Saw Fred the other day;
in long trousers and walking on a stick.
It could not be, not our Fred.

“It’s me knees, you know,” he said.
Kept walking, slowly with his stick
would not give up, our Fred.

He used to run along the lake,
in his split shorts – for his long stride.
We all knew him ‒ our Fred

Once in Singapore on a trip
a woman saw him dripping with his sweat.
Aren’t you the runner from Oak Flats?
Yes he was – our Fred.

He would not age,
kept running for a longer life
and now this.

I remember quite well
he was interested in Annabel
whom he met on a running track.

He liked her long legs
and the shape she was in,
made eyes at her and conversation,
was in love with her, our Fred.

Saw him limping past the house
were Annabel lives on her own.
Still interested, our Fred

He finds her in the garden,
stopped for a chat,
points to some roses with his stick.
And Annabel? Smiles at our Fred.

Why don’t you come in, she said.
Share a cuppa and a snack.
That will be nice, said our Fred.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Our Fred

  1. I love the poem! Is it yours? Sorry for not having visited your blog in a while but I was snowed under with work and family. So sorry to hear your daughter is really going but oh, what joy it is going to be when she returns again. Even if it´s for a short while.

  2. Yes, the poem is mine. It is about an imaginary runner. Some runners think they can carry on for ever.

    My daughter moved out twelve years ago and every time she comes to visit takes something with her. She still used her room when here. But she needed the bed at her place.

    She is very busy with her own studies.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s